“You okay?” asked Harvath.

“Aside from the fact that my rear end feels like I’ve been on a two-year trail ride, I guess I’m doing okay. My shoulders hurt like hell from that harness, though.”

“But nothing’s broken? You’re not bleeding?”

“No. No breaks. No bleeding.”

“Good. Let’s help the others.”

Harvath and Avigliano removed DeWolfe from the FAV, careful to support his neck and shoulders in case he had suffered any spinal trauma. Carlson got himself out of the FAV while Harvath hopped back in and tried to back the vehicle off of the sand dune.

The tires began to catch, but the right front wheel wasn’t responding. Harvath laid on the pedal a little heavier as Avigliano ran to his side of the vehicle. He signaled Harvath to take his foot off the gas while he examined the wheel.

“We snapped the CV shaft. This thing’s not going anywhere,” said Avigliano as he stood up and dusted the sand from his fatigues. He checked his GPS and continued, “Let’s get some cover, and I’ll call in Big John.”

No sooner had Avigliano spoken than a wall of bullets tore up the ground all around them.

Three of the Libyan Land Rovers had taken up positions above them, and the occupants were firing into the wadi with their 7.62s. Everyone took cover behind the ditched FAV.

“Is this any way to treat visitors to their country?” remarked Carlson.

Avigliano was already calling in Big John to their position.

“Big John is on his way. We just need to hold them until he gets here,” said Avigliano.

Meg, who had been taking a look at Carlson, said, “I think he’s got a broken collarbone.”

“I break bones. I don’t get mine broken,” said Carlson as Harvath slid over to him.

The minute Harvath applied pressure to Carlson’s left collarbone area, the pain was so intense the man almost blacked out.

“Well, bone crusher, this time you’re the breakee,” said Harvath as he instructed Meg on how to make up a sling for Carlson.

With DeWolfe still unconscious, that left only Harvath, Avigliano, and Meg to hold off what would soon be five Land Rovers full of Libyan soldiers.

Harvath swung out from behind the FAV with his Mod Zero and, setting the fire selector to single, took several well-aimed shots. Two Libyans, dumb enough to be standing in front of their Rovers looking down into the small canyon, were hit. Though their wounds might not have been fatal, it showed the rest of the soldiers that Harvath and his team were a force to be reckoned with.

It didn’t take the Libyans long to regroup. Soon, machine-gun fire rained down on them from both sides of the canyon. The other two Land Rovers had arrived and took up positions on the high ground on the other side of the wadi.

During a lull in the firing, Harvath unhinged the 7.62 from the back of the FAV. He would have liked to have taken down the fifty or the Mark 19, but it would have been too difficult. He grabbed as much ammo as he could, and when he let loose with it, all of the Libyans, on both walls of the wadi, ran for cover.

Avigliano called Big John for an ETA, but he was still twenty minutes out. According to an AWAC the U.S. had in the area, the team had bigger problems. Two Libyan helicopter gunships were en route to their position.

“Ah, Scot?” said Avigliano.

“I’m kinda busy, Gordo,” said Harvath as he let loose with another deafening volley from the 7.62 machine gun.

“We’re going to have company real soon,” said Avigliano once Harvath stopped to reload the 7.62.

“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” asked Harvath as he readied new ammunition.

“Aerial. We’ve got an AWAC monitoring our situation. It looks like two Alouette helicopters.”

“Complete with twenty millimeter cannons, rocket pods, and surface-to-air missiles?” said Harvath as if it were a standard sight in the desert.

“Probably a good chance of that.”

“How far out?”

“Five minutes. Tops.”

“What did Carlson say when the Libyans first spotted us?”

“‘Fuck’?” asked Avigliano.

“Yeah, fuck.”

Harvath let loose with another long burst of fire along both sides of the ridge before turning back to Avigliano. “How’s DeWolfe?”

“He’s still out.”

“All right then. Here’s the deal. You and Meg are going to have to move him.”

“Move him? Move him where?”

Harvath took another glance around and found what he was looking for. “That outcropping. Twenty meters to our left. I’ll lay down cover fire for you. Once you’re there, you’ll be safe.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to take care of those inbound helicopters.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Nope. I’m going to send Carlson over to the far side of the wadi to cover my left flank. You and Meg will cover my right from that outcropping. Those Libyan birds will have no choice but to fly right down the center of the canyon. They expect us all to be right here huddled behind the FAV. That’s what the pilots will be targeting. Between you, Meg, and Carlson, the soldiers up above won’t be able to get a shot off. We’ve got one Stinger and one AT4. I’m hoping that will be enough to do the trick.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Big John better beat his ETA.”

Harvath explained his plan to the others, and everyone made ready. When there was a pause in the Libyan machine-gun fire from the ridge above, Harvath gave the “Go” command. He rolled out from behind the FAV and swung the big 7.62-millimeter machine gun back and forth across the top of wadi, spraying the Libyan Land Rovers full of lead. Once Gordy and Meg had gotten DeWolfe safely to the outcropping, he laid off the trigger and rolled back behind the safety of the FAV.

The next thing he needed to do was unstrap the missiles from the roof rack. Harvath activated his lip mike and said, “Let’s keep it to short bursts to save on ammo. I need to get the Stinger and AT4 off the roof. When I count to three, give them something to chew on, okay? One. Two. Three!”

Carlson started firing first, followed by Avigliano and then Meg. They were each at separate sides of the wadi, with Harvath and the FAV stuck right in the center. He wasted no time and used the distraction for all it was worth. He quickly climbed into the backseat and unfastened the straps that secured the two shoulder-fired missiles to the roof. With one in each arm, he jumped out of the vehicle and hid back behind the defunct front wheel.

“Cease fire,” commanded Harvath over their encrypted radio. “Now, let’s let them come to us.”

The wait wasn’t as long as it seemed. The Libyan helicopters made it to their location ahead of schedule. Harvath kneeled on the ground less than two feet away from the FAV. The minute the choppers swung into the narrow valley, he could hear their cannons chewing up the canyon floor. With his right hand on the Stinger and the parallel trails of bullets racing toward him, Harvath followed a procedure so well known to him he could do it in his sleep.

First, he primed the system by clamping down on the lever that lit the battery and charged the ignition system. He waited as the two helicopters grew closer and closer with every passing second. The rows of cannon fire seemed to only be yards away when Harvath yanked the Stinger from the ground next to him and slapped it onto his shoulder. He centered the first chopper in the Stinger’s viewfinder and depressed the large button on the front of the launcher tube, uncovering the seeker head of the missile.

A tone indicated he had target lock as the missile began to grumble inside the tube. Harvath reflexively looked behind him to make sure all was clear, and with no one behind him and nothing close enough to reflect the exhaust blast, Harvath squeezed the trigger and said, “One away.”

A cloud of white gas erupted from the back of the tube as the Stinger raced toward the Libyan helicopter. By the time the pilot realized what was happening, it was too late. The rocket slammed into the first chopper and turned it into a torrent of fire and debris that rained down onto the floor of the wadi. Fearing another missile attack was right behind, the second French-made Alouette pulled up and out of the narrow canyon. They had caught a break, but Harvath knew it wouldn’t last long.